


Two Blue Lines

by thewritingkoala, Tina0609



Series: Tom & Charlie [13]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Cliffhanger, Denial, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Romance, Stress, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vomiting, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingkoala/pseuds/thewritingkoala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tina0609/pseuds/Tina0609
Summary: A few weeks after their vacation, Charlie's fully back at work, stressed as always. It must be the stress doing these strange things to her body, right? She's a doctor, she must know. And there's no need for Tom to worry.
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Tom & Charlie [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1230737
Comments: 53
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> We're re-visiting Tom and Charlie, finally! We're sure you can guess, what we're dealing with, and we hope you enjoy :)  
> If you want to find out more about them, check out our Tumblr page, titrianddevikawrite.  
> And happy/merry Christmas, if you celebrate, or good, happy days, if you're not!

Charlie can feel Mary's eyes on her all the way from the door to the corner of the room where she's sitting. 'Feel', because she has her head in her hands and can't look up without the vertigo setting in again.

"No," she mumbles. "Don't ask."

The nurse keeps quiet for a second, then sighs. "Are you alright?" 

"Ugh."

"Party night? Rough morning?"

She can't even think about partying now. She's about to throw up. "Don't speak. Please. And no, no partying. But I've been up all morning feeling sick. Without the drinks."

When Charlie glances up, Mary is already in front of her, sitting down at the table. "I hope you didn't bring a bug in here."

"Nah, Tom or Evie don't have it either."

"Oh, you've been staying with them the past few days?"

"Yup," she nods - carefully. "I think I've seen them almost every day since we came back from Majorca."

“ You definitely needed that holiday. But maybe that’s the cause for this?” Mary’s gesticulating and even that bit of motion she’s watching makes Charlie more nauseous somehow. She puts her head back into her hands, taking deep breaths.

“Can’t be food poisoning, ‘s too late for tha’” she says through gritted teeth. “And would be weird for just me to have caught something else.”

Mary hums in the affirmative, then from the sound of it seems to get up. “I’ll get you some water. Keep breathing.”

Charlie does, and even this small task feels humongous. And then...impossible. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she lurches to her feet and stumbles over to the sink to upend her guts.

Blergh, disgusting. She’s seen hell in her job but somehow her own vomit tops it all. She doesn’t get sick, dammit. She just doesn’t. She can’t. Heaving, hands clutching the sink, she tries to get herself under control.

" Ugh ." Not helpful at all, Mary. 

"You're a nurse, you should be fine with it," Charlie mumbles and then slowly lets go of the sink. If it wasn't for the vertigo, she'd be fine again.

"Yeah, no." She touches Charlie's shoulder lightly, pulling a bit. "Come on, let's get you over to the table. And then home, please."

They make it to the chairs, water being put in front of her, and Charlie takes small sips. "'m not sick."

"Eh." Mary points to the sink. "I think you are." And then she stands up and the next thing Charlie hears is the running water. Could this possibly be more embarrassing? Mary's cleaning up after her.

She doesn't want to argue, can't really. It's just that it's a different feeling. It must have been something she's eaten, not poisoning, but just something that didn't settle well with her stomach.

And the stress of the higher position at work could play into it as well. But she can't say that. Not to Mary and least of all to Tom. Because trying to at least see him and his adorable daughter every day is part of the "problem". And they can't argue about it again, it's all been fine for them since their little vacation.

Those five days two months ago were like paradise.

Charlie's brought out of her thoughts abruptly when the door to the common room opens and in comes Jeremy, looking fresh as a daisy, whistling a tune. God, exactly what she needed. Not.

"Ew." He stops by the table - at least Charlie thinks so, she can't look up to check - and then his aftershave wafts towards her. She swallows. OK. She's got this. "You don't look too good. Why aren't you at home?" 

"Because I'm not sick." She thinks.

"You sure about that?"

No. "Yeah. I'll be fine."

“ Famous last words,” he says, making her grit her teeth.

“Well, they’re my words.” Great, she’s starting to sound like a petulant child.

“Uhuh.” She hears sounds of feet shuffling, papers rustling, glasses clinking. Risks looking up. Yikes, the concern on both their faces is NOT helping.

“You really don’t want to go home, Charlotte?”

And how dare he use her full name? He doesn’t have the right to that anymore. Only Tom does when he’s upset with her. Tom… Who’ll probably panic if he finds out she’s hurling her guts out.

“S okay. I got this.” To prove it, she gets up very slowly. There, still standing. Until things begin to sway…

Next thing she knows, she’s sitting with her head in her hands again and being mothered by two increasingly annoying colleagues.

“What’s going on here?” No no no, not a third person to witness her at her weakest!

It's another pediatrician, working in the same shift as Charlie. Well, if you can call sitting at the table and jumping up to puke 'working'. Maybe she should just go home after all.

Before Charlie can answer, Mary speaks up. Fine with her. "Charlie's sick, but refuses to go home, for whatever reason." Charlie can  _ feel _ the eye roll and then how everyone's staring at her.

"Why would you come in here? I'm not having you give that bug to all the children plus their parents."

"Because I'm sure it's not a bug," she answers for the hundredth time. "And because I need to get my work done, if I don't want to stay later tomorrow or the day after." She did promise to cook for Evie and Tom, but maybe she should just not think about food right now.

"Pft," Jeremy speaks up, "I'm chief ward physician with you, or at least I know what to do in case you're sick." He's right. He is. But Charlie's stubborn. And strong.

"God dammit, could you all just shut up?"

"Hm. Sounds like mood swings to me."

Now, Charlie's head does shoot up, vertigo be damned. "What?" 

"Uh," Mary backtracks. "That was a joke. But periods do get heavy and ugly sometimes."

Charlie agrees, actually. It's just that she's not on her period. Another side effect of the stress she's had. Goodness, Tom can't know about this. She loves the new position and she thinks she's handled it quite well. Maybe she's been busier than she thought. And she doesn't want Tom to go all mother hen on her. One of them might get murdered in that case.

“ Want some chocolate?” the other pediatrician asks. “Helps me with any and all period troubles.”

At this point, Charlie just wants to be left alone. So she doesn’t even bother telling them it’s neither PMS nor shark week. Nods at the chocolate, nods some more at the advice to take things slow, and takes a deep breath when everyone’s gone.

She can do this. She’s done waaay worse. She’ll just try to sit as much as she can today and sip water regularly and maybe catch some fresh air during her break. And bring pizza home for dinner so she doesn’t have to cook. Evie will forgive anything for pizza, and Tom probably too.

* * *

And so Charlie Stubborn Cromwell makes it through the day, somehow. And now she’s sitting at the dinner table, trying valiantly to not make it obvious that she’s still nibbling on her first pizza slice while Evie is talking non-stop about a friend of hers who just got a bunny as her birthday present.

Maybe she can sneak some pizza pieces under the table to Boots, who’s ever-hopeful?

Tom tries to hide his frown, especially from Evie, who's now telling him everything about Bugs - a great name for a bunny to be fair - and can't seem to even take a breath between words.

"Evie, love," he starts, touching his daughter's arm softly. She stops wide-eyed and mid-sentence and looks at him. He suppresses a smile. "Please, breathe in between, yes? No need to faint on me." 

With an eager nod, she takes a few gulps of water, two bites of the pizza, chews and then is on topic again.

Speaking of fainting. His girlfriend looks like she's about to drop dead at the table. Dark circles under her eyes clash with the pale skin of her face. She's unusually quiet, her grins don't reach her eyes, and Tom notices how he and Evie are eating the entire pizza alone. Not that he'd have a problem with eating a whole pizza.

Casting a quick glance at the rambling Evie, he's sure she won't notice him not giving her the full attention. She's going to talk about the bunny for the entire next week anyway.

Now, he's touching Charlie, and she almost blows their cover by startling so much that Evie stops talking for a moment. But then continues.

"Is everything alright?" he asks quietly.

It's work, isn't it? It's always been work the past weeks, except for when they visited Majorca. To Charlie's credit, she's been home with them every night - or lunch, depending on her work shifts - and never forgot another date with him and Evie again.

But he's seen how tired she always looks, and though he'd never admit it to her and would never mention it in front of a woman, Tom's also noticed the mood swings and the tiredness. It's a bit - and he won't mention that either - like constantly living with a woman on her period.

Charlie swallows, opens her mouth, closes it again and then answers. "I'm fine. Just tired and not overly hungry," she whispers back.

Yeah. He's calling bullshit on that.

Even  in her half-dead-and-wanting-to-die state, she can see that Tom’s not buying it. And for a moment, panic sets in. What if he’s angry that work is doing things to her, to them - again? Or worse, what if he feels hurt? It really isn’t her fault this time.

But then the next moment, she scolds herself for reacting this way. They’re in a relationship. Nothing and nobody has to be perfect, they both know that.

So when he just keeps looking at her, not even quirking that infuriating brow of his but just looking, Charlie allows herself a defeated sigh.

“I’m...not so fine. But please don’t worry.”

“I practically invented worrying,” comes Tom’s dry reply and she’d totally crack a smile at that or roll her eyes if it wasn’t too much work.

“Will you let me fuss over you for a bit?” he asks next and she just blinks at him for a few moments. That sounds like heaven and hell rolled into one. Because he’s going to go nuclear mother hen on her but it’ll also be tempting to just let go for a bit. She’s practically too exhausted to breathe right now.

“And will you also maybe take a day off? Or at least check what’s wrong?”

Aaand there it is. Charlie sighs again.

"But I…" This time, he does quirk that brow, but doesn't interrupt otherwise. "I really have to finish looking through the reports, Tom."

"Well," now it's him who's sighing, but then he grins. And maybe Charlie is simply too tired to get it or she's hallucinating. Or maybe Tom's actually really grinning. Maybe he's going crazy. "Good thing you're working in a hospital, huh? Let them check, please."

"Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow."

"Then they won't find anything, and I'll stop fussing. Eventually." The grin is back, and this time Charlie manages a small smile.

"Okay," she agrees.

"Good. And now let me make you some tea and toast to nibble on. You do need to eat. Maybe Evie can even tell you one more story about Bugs," he says loud enough for his daughter to hear, before he winks at Charlie and gets up. "Shoo, off you go, to the couch."

* * *

She's actually feeling much better this morning. Not that she could be any worse than yesterday. Charlie did nibble on some toast and had loads of tea - and some good cuddles with Evie and also with Tom, when Evie was in bed.

So far there's no vertigo today, and Charlie also kept down the eggs, which Tom made for her. They were accompanied by some concerned looks, even before 6 o'clock in the morning, he got up at 5 with her, because she's got the early shift. Charlie suspects the looks' got nothing to do with her health, actually. But more with Tom suspecting she won't go to the check-up, because she's feeling better.

He may not be entirely wrong about it. As she dresses in the common room to get ready for her shift, Charlie's phone beeps. And even before getting to it, she knows what it's saying and who sent it.

> _ Call me when you're back from your appointment, yes? Except for the script meeting, I'm in all day. xx _

> _ Of course. xx _ , she types back, and then leaves it at that.

She will call back, when she’s done with the appointment. Eventually. Of course. Maybe. But first, work. And then some more work, and then she’ll have her appointment at - Charlie checks her phone - 11am. Great.

* * *

When 11am does roll around, Charlie’s not that confident anymore. It’s not as bad as the day before, but she doesn’t feel as great as she did this morning, either. No vertigo, but a definitely strange feeling in her tummy. That might be the nerves, though. She doesn’t need anyone telling her she’s overdone herself. She knows.

“Ah, Charlie,” her colleague Rose greets her in the examination room. “What can I do for you?”

She explains. The vertigo, the vomiting, not sleeping enough, no matter how much she does, the strange mood swings - she just knows Tom’s noticing those - and then also how she’s scared someone will notice her stress level and fire her.

“Well, I can assure you that won’t happen. I’m sure you’re actually not close to a break-down,” Rose smiles. “And I guess you ruled out a pregnancy?”

Charlie looks at her, open-mouthed, then laughs out loud. “What?” she gasps. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You didn’t mention you being pregnant, so I guessed it’s confirmed you’re not?”

“Why would… I… I didn’t… No, nothing is confirmed, of course. I didn’t check.”

“Well,” Rose smirks, clearly more amused than she should be. “When was your last period?”

Charlie really wants to be upset and leave. She wants to tell her colleague she’s not pregnant and of course she was on her period just recently. Except that she wasn’t. But that’s all the stress. She had this lots in university and then in her learning years. Stress does this to her body.

“It was a while ago,” she finally admits, making Rose nod.

“It was, wasn’t it? Maybe you should do a test then?”

“But I’m not pregnant.”

“Mh-mh. Humour me, will you? If the test is negative, you come back to me, and we’ll check what’s going on with your body, yes?”

With a sigh - another one - Charlie gets up. “Fine. I’ll be back later then.”

Or maybe not. Because one hour, two calls, and five tests later, Charlie finds herself in one of the stalls of the loo, staring at the two blue lines.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie tells Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, everyone! Good to see you back! On we go with this nightmare Charlie has to face.

Charlie's sitting on the loo again. Something she should probably get used to because pregnancy and frequent visits to the ladies’ room go hand in hand. Pregnancy. Cue ominous music and alarm bells ringing in her head.

She’s used up all the swear words in her repertoire since when she’s found out today, and apparently she’s used up all her courage too because now she’s at Tom’s home, locked in the loo instead of telling him the news.

Seriously though, he’s not going to take this well. Hell, she hasn’t taken this well and she isn’t the one who lost a wife recently and struggled to raise a child. Tom’s amazing as a father - especially now that he’s not drowning his sorrows anymore - and somehow she knows he’d love this child to the moon and back. But…

Yeah, but. Should she even have it? How will they handle it? And how the everloving hell will she tell Tom?

“Charlie?”

She makes the most embarrassing little ‘meep’ sound as his voice outside the bathroom door startles her out of rising panic.

“You okay or is that tummy giving you trouble again?”

Yeah, that tummy of hers sure is trouble…

" I'm fine!" she rushes out.

"Charlie…" She can see the look on his face even through the closed door, and she can hear the sigh.

"No, Tom. Honestly. I'm fine. Will you please let me pee now?"

There's a pause. Then, a slightly startled, confused sounding, "Okay." 

She doesn't want to be this harsh. But Charlie can't handle mother hen Tom along with her own anxiety and the feeling that something here will end up being a disaster.

Maybe she should just not tell him? Let him figure it out, when the time comes? Does she even want to live through this? Is it maybe better she just doesn't tell him and… And deal with it? 

There's a strange feeling in her belly, and though Charlie knows it'd be crazy she can't help but put her hand on her abdomen and help the little baby inside her settle down.

She needs to have this, doesn't she?

"Charlie?" This time she startles so much that the 'meep' becomes a yell. "Are you really good? You've been in there an awfully long time."

"For eff's sake, Tom!" She's a bit proud she didn't use fuck as Evie could be somewhere around. "Leave me alone!"

"I…" Tom stops himself from saying more. Charlie clearly doesn't want him here. He just doesn't know why. He also doesn't knock, neither does he try the door handle to just come in. If she doesn't want to talk, she shouldn't have to. 

She should though. 

Because right now Tom's worried, almost scared. Obviously, there is something wrong. Tom's noticed the looks she's sent him all evening, guessing she thought she was sneaky.

But there's something she's not telling him, and he's afraid it's got to do with her appointment.

"I'll take Evie to bed then," he says to the closed door. "Maybe join me in a bit to tell her good night?"

Charlie’s  voice wobbles a bit when she says ‘okay’. He’s being nice. He’s being so nice, dammit, and she’s going to ruin it all. Here he is, trying to give her the space she needs but clearly also worried out of his overthinking mind.

No. She can’t just let him find out on his own after some time. No.

* * *

And so Charlie forces herself to go through the motions, taking an awfully long time to wash her hands. She stares at her face in the mirror, seeing the uncertainty in her eyes rimmed by dark smudges, the rigid set of her mouth, the pounding of her pulse. It’s a good thing the churning in her stomach isn’t visible.

Faintly, she hears Tom and Evie getting ready for the night. And an image flashes in front of her eyes, of Tom tucking in a tiny toddler with Charlie’s hair and his eyes, cooing soothing nothings, even crooning a lullaby.

A sob comes from nowhere, lodging in her throat. God, she wants that. As unexpected as it is and even though the timing sucks, she wants to have that. But will he let her - them - have it?

She takes a few minutes more to get herself together, making sure she's not looking like the world will collapse any minute now. As possible as that might be, she doesn't want to scare Evie or worry Tom even more.

When Charlie makes her way to Evie's room, the little girl is already settled in bed, eyes heavy, listening to Tom's softly spoken words. They normally read together, Evie and whoever takes her to bed, but maybe Tom's daughter is too tired tonight.

Evie's eyes widen a little, when Charlie sits down next to Tom, interrupting his reading only for a minute with a whispered 'good night, little one', and a reassuring smile for Tom.

And then downstairs the nerves and insecurities come back in full force. She sits down on the sofa in the living-room, staring at the black TV for a moment, before deciding she needs a drink for this. And then she realises she can't have that. So, she's pacing the floor instead, maybe a tea would help as well? Kitchen. She needs to go to the kitchen for that, so she does. God, she's never felt so sick in her life.

She  putters around, nearly dropping the mug because of her shaking hands. Has the kettle always taken this long to boil? Why does the scent of bergamot not comfort her?

“Something’s wrong.” Tom’s voice startles her into scattering a spoonful of sugar onto the counter instead of inside the tea mug. Shit. Fuck.

It wasn’t voiced as a question. It’s an ominous statement that hangs in the room, as if the proverbial elephant wasn’t huge enough already.

“I’ve been watching you for days, and something is wrong.” Tom’s voice quivers just the tiniest bit, which makes her hands shake more. She clutches her scalding hot mug, reminding herself to breathe. “Will you not tell me, Charlie?”

She makes the mistake of looking up and seeing his handsome face creased with worry, the full force of his puppy dog eyes unleashed on her.

Well, hell. Time to face the music, even if it might be her funeral song.

* * *

He knows she's not telling him everything there is to know. He's known for days. It didn't just start with being sick, she's been stressed out for weeks. Months.

And today was the appointment. The one she was supposed to tell him about. Which she didn't. Hell, she didn't even pick up the phone when he called. Tom doesn't know if it's because something bad came up in the appointment or because she didn't go.

The way she's looking at him now - like she's afraid of him - doesn't help in the slightest.

"I… I'm…," she stutters, then looks down into her tea mug. "Do you want some tea?"

"No, I don't want tea, damn it!" It's a bit louder than he intended, and he hopes he didn't wake Evie. The look of panic on Charlie's face doesn't help either. She's always so strong, never afraid of telling him what's going on or what he's done wrong. It scares the shit out of him. "I'm sorry. But you're scaring me. I don't know if you're maybe ill and not telling me, or if there's something entirely different going on. And I need to know."

Is it work? Will she go, one way or the other? Leave Evie? Leave them?

Tom's watching her take a deep breath and nod slowly.

"Yeah, there's something going on," she starts, and Tom begins to sweat, the room starts to spin, "but maybe we should sit down for that."

So, that's what they do, they sit down with her mug of tea between them on the kitchen table. Tom reaches over and grabs her hand, squeezing tight.

"Are you sick?" His voice is wobbly, his eyes sting.

"No, no, I'm physically fine. I'm so sorry for scaring you, I'm just not sure how to tell you." Charlie's not looking at him, instead she's staring down at her lap.

"Are you leaving me?" Tom whispers, afraid of the answer.

Now she does look up, panic written on her face. "No. No, Tom. There… There might be the possibility that I'm pregnant. I did five tests, I haven't been to the doctor to confirm it, but it would all fit together. We… we might have a child together in a few months."

* * *

Charlie bites her lip. It's out. She told him. It kind of feels good already, but now she's scared of his reaction. She looks at Tom and waits. And waits. And then waits some more. The reaction doesn't come.

Instead he's turned deadly pale, maybe with a hint of green. The hold on her hand slackens, his eyes stare at her, but he doesn't say anything. Oh, shit.

"Tom?"

He blinks. But nothing else happens.

"Tom, say something. Anything. Please?"

"I…" He almost chokes on that one syllable. His mouth opens and closes. But again - nothing else happens.

She's starting to sweat, she feels sick again. "I'm sorry this is happening. It came as a surprise for me as well. I know we're neither living together nor have we ever talked about this. But…" 

"How?"

"Huh?" 

"How?"

Well.

And  just like that, something inside her snaps. Because dammit all to hell and back, she’s been freaking out over this for a while now and somehow it’s even worse than she’s feared. And now she just can’t deal with it anymore.

“How? Seriously?!” Oops, her voice may be a tad shrill. Tough luck. “Do you want me to spell it out for you? The whole insert tab A into slot B thing?”

Tom’s blinking so rapidly now that it makes her dizzy. Not that it takes much these days to achieve that.

“B-but…” He swallows convulsively, rubs the back of his neck in a gesture she’s learned means he feels terribly upset. “No.”

“What, ‘no’?” Her voice is even shriller now. Great.

“No,” he simply says again, getting out of his chair so fast that it topples backward with a clatter. “You can’t be. I won’t allow it.”

And that, that is when Charlie REALLY loses it.  " Allow it? ALLOW it?!" She jumps out of her chair, dizziness forgotten, everything else as well except for Tom's reaction and her response. "There's no 'allowing it', Tom. It already happened."

Tom starts pacing, ignoring the fallen chair, still rubbing his neck, looking down. Charlie can see a fine sheen of sweat forming on his face and neck.

"But," he starts, "we were careful. Always careful. You were careful. So. How the hell can this happen? And don't you dare tell me about birds and bees and flowers and what not. You know what I mean!"

Charlie's stunned. Tom's actually freaking out. And not just because this is new, not because he's upset. He's angry, isn't he? Angry at her.

"I…" Okay, maybe she did forget to take the pill. She honestly doesn't know. She was stressed, okay? "We…" 

"I. We. I. We. We what?" He's stopped pacing, and it may be worse than the worried looks and the pale face. Now he's pointing at her. Accusing her? "Was it work? Did you forget? Because of work? It's always your damn work, isn't it? So, what do you do now?" 

* * *

Charlie’s head snaps back as if he’s hit her, and the jerky movement gives Tom the tiniest pause.

They’re both panting by now, in turns pale and flushed with all the fucking emotions. What emotions, he doesn’t even know. He’s feeling so much he’s wondering how he can still stand and form coherent sentences.

This can’t be happening. No, no, no. It just can’t. For fuck’s sake, he’s barely gotten over losing his wife when their daughter was little, he’s barely stopped being a miserable drunk and actually being there for Evie - and now this. God, no. No. He can’t do this.

Charlie’s stopped shrieking but this eerily calm, icy tone now isn’t easier to handle. She’s trembling from head to toe and there’s a smidgeon of worry left inside him but he can’t hold on to it. Or to what little sanity he has left.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Charlie takes a step closer, lifting her head as he grinds his teeth and fists his hands. “Don’t you dare make this my fault. Or make this about work. I had to play goddamn Wonderwoman these past few months, tiptoeing around your feelings and rearranging my life and making compromises, and… I’m human, Thomas. A fucking human woman who’s fucking gotten herself pregnant by you. How about you cut the dramatic bullshit and useless denials and man up, if you actually care about me, about us?”

“I can’t.” This time, his desperate thought comes out in words, a brittle and broken whisper that makes Charlie look as if she’s been slapped again.

He needs to get out of this situation. He needs to leave. His heart races like he's run a marathon, and Tom's not sure if he's able to even stay conscious.

"You can't?" Charlie whispers, now even closer, and Tom takes a step back, almost falling over the chair, but catching himself, before he joins it on the floor. "You can't what?"

Tom bites his lips as tears threaten to fall. "This."

A huff. That's what he gets for that. "This? This is already happening, Thomas." His full name again. "This is happening, and if you're an adult, and if you love me, you're not going to leave or ignore this. You're going to fucking stay and be a grown-up." 

He can't. He can't stay. He can't be a grown-up. Adulting is too much, a baby is too much.

On Charlie's face he sees his decision. She looks afraid, scared and mighty angry. Then her jaw sets.

"I'm going to do this, Tom. You can't get out of this. For once stop the pity party. I'm done. I'm not the only adult here. I'm not alone in this, I won't deal with this on my own and worry about you as well."

He's shaking. He's this close to having a real meltdown. His daughter is asleep upstairs and his girlfriend - oh God, how will this end? - is staring at him as if he's the worst man in the world. Maybe he is.

But he can't.

Charlie sees it when she looks at him. His worry - which she gets, hell, she's worried enough for three people - and his fear. And again, she gets it, she's afraid, too. 

But there's more to it. He's shutting down, he's refusing to do this, and Charlie sees it all happening in front of her, sees it written on his face.

She's feeling sick, like she might hurl, like she's going to be ill right here in the middle of the kitchen. She takes a few deep and measured breaths, but they're not calming. She's beginning to panic.

Tom hasn't said anything in a while, and Charlie wonders if maybe he's slowly letting this into his head. Maybe in a few short hours he's going to start asking questions. The good ones, not the accusing ones. He'll realise they're both scared, but they're both in this together, and they will both be fine. Hell, there isn't much else to do than dealing with this, because this is happening.

Charlie bites her lips. Tom's not saying anything, and she probably screamed enough for the two of them. She tilts her head to the side, listening. Is Evie awake? No, no sounds from upstairs.

And then Charlie takes a slow step forward, hand reaching out to touch Tom's arm. But in less than a second he's taken two steps back, almost meeting the wall behind him. He's shaking his head, sweaty, pale and flushed at the same time.

"Bedroom," he mumbles and then rushes out of the door, before Charlie can begin to understand what just happened.

She  stands there a moment longer, dimly hearing the sound of a door slammed shut and being locked.

Seriously? She’s not a monster, not some super-devious villain or a harbinger of doom, just a pregnant woman all alone and utterly confused and way too emotional. And yet Tom has clearly fled the scene and is feeling the need to barricade himself into the room.

What. The. Fuck?!

Charlie lurches into motion, barely making it to the sink before she does hurl. Then she dunks her face under the running tap and runs icy water over her wrists too. She’s gotta get a grip. Automatically, her wet hand finds her flat stomach, curving protectively. She has to think of the baby too.

The baby Tom doesn’t want to acknowledge.

But Charlie tells herself he’ll come around. He has to, goddammit. And so she goes through the motions of checking in on Evie, who’s miraculously and thankfully asleep. On wobbly feet, she walks to Tom’s bedroom door and stands there for what feels like half an eternity, listening. Nothing. No pacing. No throwing things. No cursing. No crying either. Just suspicious stillness that has her hackles rise.

But she can’t worry about his state now. She’s got to keep things together and get herself home safely. And so she does just that, eyes blurry with fatigue and tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops? Sorry? Leave a comment? :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did we say sorry in the last chapter?  
> We still mean it :D

Four days in hell. That is what this feels like, and Charlie has no idea how she'll survive this. That may be a tad over dramatic, she admits to herself, but then again, she has every right to be.

She's never been this sick in her life. And she's gone through so much, what with the attack in the hospital and the aftermath. But she had Tom then.

Charlie takes a sip of her ginger ale, and nibbles on her toast as she thinks about the situation at hand. Well, there's not much thinking to do, really.

She's pregnant, and Tom doesn't acknowledge it.

That's basically it.

She received texts, asking her to come over, asking about her shifts and what she wanted to have for dinner. But nothing about the baby. Absolutely nothing. Nothing passive aggressive either. But also no wondering when she refused to come.

Charlie doesn't know what to do. She just knows that she can't go to work, because she can't get up, and hopes she'll be able to keep her food down.

She’s  told Evie she’s caught the flu, that one time after a text from Tom that told her the little girl was worried. She wonders how he can be calm and considerate enough to think how their rift - is that the word for it??? - might affect Evie. And then on the other hand simply refuse to address what has separated them so suddenly. Is it even possible to compartmentalize like that? What is going on in that brilliant but currently infuriating mind of his?

Of course, she did talk to Evie briefly. But that made it all worse. For Charlie doesn’t just love Tom - despite his horrible behaviour, she still does, dammit - but also his daughter. And deep inside, there’s this tiny glowing bubble of love for their unborn child too, growing as the speck of life inside her grows.

She might not know much right now, but she knows one thing: she’s going to raise this child and be the best mother ever. But what about the father…

Nerves, a constant companion now along with worry, mood swings and nausea from hell, make her stomach churn. A few hasty steps, and she’s hurled the three bites of toast down the sink. Marvelous. There’s a pounding in her head, like a constant throb but not quite a headache, adding to the dizzy spells sometimes.

She’s so used to it that it takes her a moment to realize that there’s also a pounding at her front door. With jerky movements that come from fatigue, she washes away the vomit, rinses her mouth, and shuffles to the door. It’s probably the meds she ordered to be delivered.

But when she opens the door, Tom is standing in front of it.

* * *

" Wha- ?" is all she gets out, before the pressure in her belly becomes too much too soon - and she's rushing to get to the guest bathroom, where she dry heaves into the toilet. Ugh.

This is too much. As strongly as she's wished for Tom to be there, she can't handle it now. She groans into the ceramic bowl, willing her stomach to settle. Yeah, that won't happen.

And then there's a knock on the door.

"Are you alright?" He sounds concerned. Way more concerned than he should. Way more than she can deal with at the moment. Charlie doesn't know what to think, doesn't know how to react or what to say. "Charlie?"

"Tom, I-," she manages. "God I feel so sick," she mumbles.

"Can I come in?"

"Do whatever you want." She doesn't care at this point, she just wants to not feel like death warmed up.

Tom  hovers in the doorway a moment longer, wondering whether that wrenching-squeezing pain in his stomach is sympathy-heaving or worry for Charlie’s health or the sinking feeling that he’s been the arsehole of the century and might not be able to fix it.

But he’s got to do this. Somehow. Because now he’s himself again. And has discovered that actually, he’s not totally himself without Charlie.

Unceremoniously dumping the bags he’s carrying on the floor, he moves into the small guest toilet and acts on autopilot. He wets a hand towel under the tap, kneels by Charlie’s side and dabs at her face. It’s currently way too white but also dotted with hectic splotches, beaded with cold sweat, and creased with lines of worry and fatigue. It’s his fucking fault, this face.

Hands trembling but trying to be strong, Tom wipes Charlie’s face tenderly and brushes her hair back, then just pulls her away from the toilet and onto his lap as he sits down on the tiled floor.

It takes him a moment to realize that he’s been mumbling “I’m sorry” over and over softly and that there’s no reaction at all from Charlie.

He's been a dick. A big one, Tom knows that. But he can't change his reaction in the past he can only make it better - starting now.

"What're you sorry for?" Charlie's voice is rough, no emotion in it.

"Everything," he mumbles, a little pathetically. "I'm just so sorry."

He feels Charlie shake her head against his chest and then how she pushes herself away from him. Or tries to, as he's holding on to her.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Tom," she says. "Let me go, please."

"Charlie…"

"No! Let me go, I said. I need to brush my teeth, I need to think about this."

"This?" His heart hammers in his chest. "Us?"

There’s  no reply, and that in itself is a reply. Tom feels the walls of the small toilet close in on him, squeezing the breath out of his lungs. He actually winces, and Charlie uses the moment to wiggle out of his hold despite her physical weakness.

From his spot on the floor, he watches her painfully go through the motions, as if everything more than a breath is too hard.

“Can we...talk about it?” he asks at last, when she’s just standing there with a white-knuckled grip on the sink and her back to him.

There’s a sound that could’ve been a scoff or snort but lacks vicious intent because she presumably doesn’t have the strength for it.  “Talk? Really? That’s rich, Tom. I seem to recall quite a bit of talking on my part and you zoning out on me and disappearing.”

He swallows, nodding like a puppet on a string even though she can’t see it. Right. Dumb thing to say. But he wasn’t ready then. He’s ready now. Hopefully. Maybe. Somewhat. He has to be. Desperately wants to be.

“I know. I’m sorry. You deserved so much better.” He hauls in a deep breath and adds a mumbled, “Both of you deserved so much better, you and our baby.”

Charlie jerks as if she’s touched a live wire.  Did she hear him correctly? 'Our baby'? He said that? Maybe it's also just the headache adding to the nausea that's causing her to hallucinate.

"You mean that?" she mumbles towards the mirror, detecting a small movement behind her through the glass. "Our child? Is it now?"

"Of course!" comes from the bottom of the small room. "I was a jerk. And I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, we've established that." Okay, so she knows she's being mean. She knows she could maybe - just maybe - meet him halfway. But why should she, especially now? Why does she have to be the one giving in? She tried. She's tried so many times, moving one step forward and two steps back, waiting for Tom to come around. She knew it wouldn't be easy, loving Tom and being loved by him, but she didn't imagine it to be this difficult, either.

Charlie startles when suddenly Tom's behind her, his hands steadying her, rubbing her upper arms.

"Can we please talk about this? For real now? And listen?" he pleads. "And maybe take this to the living-room, if you feel up for it?" Pff. As if she was the one not cooperating before. "I know I have no right to demand it. But I want to make this better. Please."

She sighs. "Okay. But I need a bucket for this, or we'll be interrupted every ten minutes."

* * *

And  so that’s where she finds herself a while later, perched on the couch with a bucket clutched in shaking hands, a fluffy blanket wrapped around her, and a steaming mug of some sort of herbal tea with ginger in front of her that surprisingly doesn’t even make her more nauseous.

Next to the mug is a row of various tea packets that Tom has brought, mumbling something about morning sickness. And next to that, drawing her eyes like a magnet, is a tiny cat-shaped baby rattle in a neutral yellow. There was more incoherent mumbling from Tom when he unpacked it, before also pulling medicine and a warm water bottle and a giant-sized packet of crackers out of his bag like a magician with a hat.

If she wasn’t still mad at him and feeling like shit, she’d giggle at this. And maybe - definitely - coo over the rattle that’s totally too early as a gift but also a sign that he does finally acknowledge the pregnancy.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” she says when there’s been minutes of silence and Tom’s knee is jerking up and down so fast it makes her seasick.

“Yeah. Yes. Right. Talk.”

He’s visibly struggling but then folds his hands together, stills his bouncing leg, and takes a deep breath.

“We’ve established that I’m sorry, but I’ll say it again. Heck, I’ll say it for the rest of our lives - if you still want a life with me.” His voice falters horribly on the last words and she feels her eyes sting.

" Tom , I-," she starts, but he interrupts her immediately.

"No! Please, let me talk first. I don't want to know if we're over. I need to get this off my chest, before you tell me I should better go."

He's looking at her, but doesn't quite meet her eyes. Charlie's heart clenches, her belly does too. Of course she doesn't want him to go. Not permanently at least. She's not yet sure about this afternoon, or whether he's got anything really good to say that doesn't make her want to punch him. He's got groveling to do.

So, Charlie nods - slowly, because it's making her dizzy - and urges Tom to talk.

"It hit me like a train, I… I couldn't think or speak. This, and I know you agree, this is way too early in our relationship. We're not even living together. We've never talked about children, about marriage, about anything!" Tom stands up now - and then sits down again. "I'm barely functioning," he mumbles. "And the joy Evie and I did have in our lives again is because of you. I'm so sorry for the way I treated you."

There are tears in his eyes, and there are tears in Charlie's as well. "How do I know you won't do this again?" 

Tom shakes his head. "I won't."

"Do you even want a child?" 

There it is, the million dollar question. Tom swallows down what feels like a bucket full of rusty nails that scrape his insides raw. But the pain he felt after he realized how he’d treated Charlie was worse.

“I… I think what’s most important now, for both of us, is honesty.” He holds her gaze even though he’s shaking. “I don’t know. I don’t know whether I want a child at this very moment in my life.”

Fuck it, that’s hard to admit. And even harder to watch her flinch and grow whiter than a pristine new sheet. So he sucks up his laughable modicum of courage and tells her another brutally honest truth.

“But I also know that it’s a bit too late for me to consider that. Because now there IS a baby and there’s you and me - hopefully. So if you want this child, then I will learn to want it too. Hell, I won’t even have to learn, I think. Because I want you, Charlie. With anything and everything that comes with you. So if we go for a scan and it turns out you’ll be having triplets, then I’ll damn well come to terms with three babies if it means I’ll still have you in my life.”

Charlie shivers, then she's suddenly hot all over. She grabs the bucket, but thankfully the sick feeling in her stomach passes. Triplets. Oh God. No.

"Sorry," she murmurs. "I… don't say triplets." A deep breath, a sip of her tea and two or three slow blinks - then she's ready for her answer. "The thing is, I don't want babies in my life at this point either, Tom. I love Evie as I'd love my own child, I'm happy with you. I got a promotion, I have important work to do, nothing is discussed."

Tom stares, then nods and swallows. "Oh. Okay. Uhm…" 

"I wasn't done." 

"Oh."

"I didn't want this, but the thing is, as you pointed out, it's happening. You treated me like this was my fault. Like it's my responsibility, like we didn't have unprotected sex in Majorca." Yes, she's done the math. "You left me alone, thinking you didn't want me anymore, dealing with this on my own. We're in this together. And honestly, not for the first time I feel like I'm pushing you and demanding too much of you. I don't want to feel like this, especially not when it's not just me you're hurting with this. We have to be a team here, you have to show me. With more than tea and crackers."

Charlie swallows, more tears in her eyes, and then stares down at a spot on the blanket. She can't look him in the eyes, she needs to know if this is too much for him.

"You say you want a life with me," she whispers. "But sometimes I feel like you just want to feel alive and protected and I'm the one who's giving you that at the moment and everything else is too much for you." Now she's rubbing at the spot on the blanket, her other hand shaking as she lifts the cup to take a sip.

* * *

Well, hell. Tom blinks, realizing belatedly that his eyes are stinging and that he’s also not breathing. So he breathes, appalled at the ragged sound of it.

But how else is he to react when she throws that at him? Because, no matter how instant his need for denial might be, she has reasons for saying these things that cut him right in half.

But it’s not the whole truth either, is it? He’s prided himself on his way with words for most of his life, and now when the right words are so fucking important, he can’t find them. Is that an indication of his life? Is he one humongous failure, designed to flounder and falter every time it matters?

He takes a few more of those jagged breaths, and Charlie still isn’t looking at him.

“You’re right,” he says after a while, then clears his throat so she can actually hear him. “About often pushing me. But that’s exactly what I needed. Charlie, I was living half a life when you met me. I was being half a father to Evie, half a friend to my friends, not even half an actor or half a man.”

Tom drags a trembling hand through his hair, willing himself to make things clear. “You made me complete. You still do. But that doesn’t mean that’s everything I want or expect from you. It’s not...it shouldn’t be your job to patch up or fill whatever holes I have inside me. Because yes, I do have holes and broken places but I’m still me. And I can be whole enough to make you complete too. I can be whole enough now to even make a bigger family complete.”

The tears are spilling over, and Charlie rushes to put down her mug on the table, before she hides her face in her hands and sobs. Sobs loudly, her body shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks, letting out all of the feelings she's had in the past four days.

"Oh, fuck you, Tom," she whispers, then jerks. Did she say that out loud? She looks up, seeing Tom's shocked face. Charlie shakes her head, pushing strands of hair behind her ears. "That's not what I meant."

"I-" 

"But you can't say things like that." Her chuckle is almost amused, especially seeing the similarities between Tom and his daughter now on his face. Puppy dog eyes are nothing in comparison.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, now looking beaten and sad, and Charlie's heart can't take it. What a mess they are, sitting in her living-room, where it's getting way too hot with the air thick enough to cut it with a knife. "But I mean it. You do make me complete, I am nothing without you, and I need you in my life. Not to give me strength or push me further or offer me free therapy. I love you, Charlie, I really do."

She shakes her head. It's lovely to hear, feels so good, but they've been here, done that so often. Not with her being pregnant, obviously, but in so many other scenarios. Charlie doesn't know what to feel, she's got more to think about now, more than whether she's ready to be the second most important woman in his life - after Emily, who's given him Evie, has been there from the start and would still be here today, maybe already pregnant with a third child, if it wasn't for an accident. Charlie needs to think of her own child now as well. What future does she face, if Tom decides it's too much after all? 

"Fuck your way with words, Tom," she chuckles. "I'm trying to stay mad. I am mad. And then you're giving me a speech, and I think everything will be alright again."

"I want that too." He's pleading with her now, moving closer on the sofa, hands folded like he's saying a prayer.

"I know you do. I truly believe that." Charlie really does. He's trying. He's come so far. But he's come so far for so many times. "But Tom, I can't do this anymore. This is the last time. Instead of pushing you into everything it'd be nice to actually have you pull me along for once."

"What're you saying?" He's gone all quiet now, whispering the words as if he doesn't really want to know. Hell, Charlie doesn't know, either. But he needs to hear it, right? Needs to know that this is the last time.

"What I'm saying is that to make it work, I need you to be on my side. I need your support. After our first kiss, you went into hiding, then were jealous, then needed months to do something about your feelings,  _ after _ I basically ambushed you in bed. Then I forgave you when you pushed me away again, when your friends were less than nice and when you got mad at me for not having the time, because for once my work came before you. I can't do that anymore. Not when I have a baby inside of me that I need to think about. This right here, this is the last time we're going to have this discussion."

Tom  shoots out of his seat because he can’t sit still anymore. How can he, when the woman he loves - yes, dammit, he does love her, however he can - has basically given him an ultimatum? What makes matters worse is that it’s her goddamn right to do so and he can understand her. Hell, in a corner of his befuddled and aching mind, he’s proud of her for standing up for herself and the little one.

But does she have to kill him in the process? Making a sound that’s halfway between a sob, a sigh, and a growl, Tom stops pacing to face Charlie.

“I get that,” he says. “I do, believe me. But here’s the thing, Charlie… I don’t know how to make myself any clearer. I’ve tried to explain it and I’ve laid my heart bare. And I get how that might not be enough, but what else can I do or say?”

How will she believe his commitment? How can he make her see that he’ll stay with her, if a verbal promise isn’t enough reassurance because he’s fucked up so many times.

Charlie gulps down her tea and takes a moment to settle down, her hand on her stomach and a bit green around the gills.

“I…”

Tom waits because he’ll damn well at least give her all the patience she deserves too.

When she adds nothing, looking as forlorn as he feels, he walks over and gets onto his knees. When he reaches for her clammy hands - his are no better - she lets him hold them, which is a tiny victory at least.

“I’m yours, Charlie. And I want you - both - to be mine along with Evie. But how can I reassure you? Do you want me to change my lifestyle? Give you more freedom? Move in with you? What will make this better, honestly? Because you deserve so much better.”

She takes a deep breath. Or tries to, because no matter what she does, Charlie can't seem to get enough air. Tom's hands around hers help her settle somewhat. But he's so damn close, looking at her, pleading with her, working his way into her heart. Not that he has to try very hard for that.

" Goo- goodness, Tom," she stammers, trying to get the words out. Is there even a solution to this? A secret ingredient to make them a happy family? And does it even matter, weren't they happy before?

"Tell me, please. I want to make you feel loved. I love you." Tom chokes on the last words, sending shivers through her body as well.

"I want all of that." When he looks at her now, his hands tightening around hers, Charlie can see the panic in his eyes. "Well, not all of that, but some things. Eventually, not all at once. But that's exactly it, Tom. I can't tell you and frankly don't want to tell you what to do. Yes, I want to live with you, basically because we're going to have a baby. Yes, sometimes I need my space, sometimes you need yours. But I want you to want it. I can't tell you what to do about this."

"But…" He looks so desperate now. "I'm not a mindreader, Charlie. I can't… I can't know what you want."

"You didn't know that with Emily, either." She doesn't want to make him suffer, can barely stomach to see him flinch like he's doing now. "I just want you to not be afraid to tell me what you want. You want me to move in with you? Ask me. You want to wait? Tell me, before I'm making the plans for both of us. I…" No. No, that wasn't exactly right. She doesn't doesn't want him to tell her what he wants. "I… I want you to want me, I guess. Pull me along. Tell me what to do. Just… Yeah." And that's not all of it. "I want you to have faith in us, to jump in. Because I'm going to stay."

Tom looks like he's supposed to do maths without a calculator, and Charlie starts to wonder, if she should have told him in different words, make sure he really understands. But that's exactly it, right? So, she simply shrugs, waits for his response.

"And I love you too," she adds. "Probably for longer and more than you think."

Well , he’s an adult, isn’t he? He can’t expect his food to be cut into cubes for him or his woman to do all the damn work in this relationship. She can’t make it clearer? She shouldn’t have to! He’s just going to figure it out, somehow. As long as she knows he’s trying and as long as she doesn’t leave.

He tells her just that. “I promise to give this - us - one hundred percent and try my best. Is that enough? Am I enough?”

Heart in his throat, or maybe somewhere down in his clenching stomach, he waits. Charlie gives a mighty sniffle before nodding. “Yes. So let’s do this?”

“Let’s do this!” Tom pulls her into a bone-crushing hug, then barely manages to move out of the way when Charlie hurls up the tea into the bucket.

Yeah, let’s do this - because it’s all part and parcel of being in love with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, hope you liked it :)


	4. Chapter Four

“I cheated.”

Tom almost drops the knife he’s using to cut the onions on the counter. Charlie did what now? Heart in his throat he turns to the kitchen door, facing his girlfriend - he thankfully still gets to call her that after his massive fuck-up - and stares at her. She’s biting her lip, dressed in yoga pants and an oversized jumper she must have stolen from him.

“Excuse me,” he whispers, then clears his throat. “You what?”

The shocked expression and giggle give him such mixed signals - and feelings - that Tom doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Sorry,” Charlie snickers as she comes closer and sits on the chair by the kitchen table. “I should have started this differently. I had a scan during the appointment this morning, even though I’m not due another week. Apparently I’m in week 11, which confirms my suspicion the holiday in Majorca had something to do with the current situation.”

Oh. Oh. Now, that thankfully makes sense. Tom leans his butt against the counter behind him and crosses his arms. “So, you had a scan without me?” he asks, but without real anger behind it. She’s gone to the appointment this afternoon to confirm everything is alright after all. And asking about the ongoing nausea. “Is everything fine, then?”

Charlie nods. “I’m healthy, the baby is, too. And the scan wasn’t planned. But the machine was free, and technically I’m still working there.” Yeah, working there, but not attending, because she’s been too sick. Tom starts to worry, but if her co-workers say everything is alright, he’s going to believe them.

At least he’s had her here in his house. If only to look after her, while he goes through his first script to shoot since Emily’s death. They’re moving forward.

Tom smiles. “That’s good. And I’m happy. Do you have the picture?” He cleans his hands with a kitchen towel. “Can I see?”

Charlie  pulls it out of her pocket, a warm little glow inside her because Tom looks genuinely happy and eager. He’s been like that for the past few days. Okay, so she’s maybe keeping a too tight watch on him, but she can’t help it. She’s finding things a bit too good to trust in them yet, although deep down she knows that it’s all true and they deserve this chance.

Tom’s been an angel through days of nursing her, as opposed to her nursing others - or him. He still has a bit of a problem saying ‘our baby’ but he’s also been reading a million books already and clucking around her like the mother hen he is.

It’s funny, although this is his second child, he seems to be needing the reassurance of those books and websites. Heck, he even has an app on his phone now that tells him stuff daily. It’s endearing and makes sense, and she is SO not going to make fun of it because she understands it.

Tom moves to her side, an arm going around her as he crouches to get a good look at the various shades of grey. There it is, small but unmistakable. At the same time, their fingers move to the picture to touch the tiny new life growing in her belly, bumping each other. Charlie’s smile widens.

A kitchen timer beeps, rudely interrupting the moment. Tom presses a kiss to her head and rises to check the oven. The smells make her queasy. Then again, she has yet to find something that doesn’t make her at least mildly queasy.

As if on cue, Tom asks, “So what about the ongoing nausea?”

She shudders involuntarily. She could live without the reminder someone is growing inside of her, making her body adjust to the new situation.

"It's normal, they say," she grumbles. "Should be gone in the next few weeks."

"And if it doesn't go away?" Tom asks from his place at the oven. The food he's pulled out looks amazing, but smells disgusting.

Charlie shrugs, trying to breathe slowly in and out. "Keep doing what I'm doing. Stay hydrated and fed, take things slow."

"Mh-mh. Sounds reasonable. So," he turns around. "I'm going to make a sauce with onions. Do you…" 

But before he can finish his sentence, Charlie's jumped out of the chair in desperate need for the loo. Onions, she thinks, onions need to go on the list.

Alright then, no onions. Tom makes an ‘eeks’ face to himself and sweeps the chopped onions into a small tupperware bowl. He can use them for Evie and himself, it’s no problem.

Torn between rushing after Charlie (and knowing he’ll be utterly helpless and useless while she retches) and staying put to cook (and at least being useful), he decides on the latter. There’s bland food for her if she can’t manage today’s casserole, he’s made sure of it. If only she wasn’t feeling so awful. And if only she wasn’t watching him like a hawk these days. Yeah, he’s noticed, although she’s trying not to be obvious. But he can’t fault her, can he? And he’s not doing what he’s doing just to settle whatever doubts she might still be having about them. He’s doing it because he wants to take care of her.

Evie interrupts his thoughts as she strolls into the kitchen with Boots on her heels. “Is Charlie puking again?” she asks with that frankness typical for children her age.

She knows about the pregnancy, but of course only some basics so she wouldn’t worry about Charlie being so sick all the time.

At his nod and suppressed smirk, she shudders. “Eeeeew.” And after a moment, solemnly, “I hate the baby.”

“You what now? Why, munchkin?” Tom tries to hide his alarm as he hands her a slice of tomato to nibble on.

“It makes Charlie sick. Not fair. I would never do that to her if I was in her tummy.”

" Aw ," he coos, lets go of the knife and kneels down in front of Evie. She's worrying her lip, then scrunches up her face as she looks towards the bathroom. "It's not just the baby's fault. Charlie's body simply needs to work a bit more to make it comfortable for the baby." 

"Hm." His daughter doesn't seem too convinced. "Can we make it comfortable for the baby and then Charlie is okay?" 

Tom nods. "Yup. We can try. Should we set the table for dinner?" At Evie's eager nod, he smiles, rubs her side lovingly and then stands up. "You can get the forks and knives, I'll take the plates out, and you can put them on the table, yes?"

"Uh-huh."

So they both get to work on setting the table, Tom working with the hot pots and glasses, careful to put everything so far away that Boots can't steal it.

Tom and Evie have been sitting at the table for a few short minutes, when Charlie enters the kitchen and sits down on 'her' chair.

"Sorry about that," she mumbles. She's found her smile again though, and there are potatoes with butter she can eat.

"It's okay," Evie answers confidently, "Daddy and I will make you comfortable."

“ Aw .” Charlie smiles wider. Evie’s been an angel too these past few days. Very inquisitive (well, guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree) and somewhat worried but also gentle with Charlie and interested in a potential sibling.

Before the little girl picks up her kiddie’s cutlery, she leans all the way over to where Charlie is sitting. Putting her mouth close to Charlie’s not yet bumpy stomach, she speaks extra clearly.

“Did you hear me, baby? We’re gonna make you comfortable and then you need to stop being mean to Charlie. Mean people go to hell, you know. Okay?”

Charlie doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and Tom has much the same expression on his face. She finally settles for hiding her grin behind her hand and then giving Evie a short cuddle.

“Thank you, Evie, I’m sure that will help.”

Tom pipes in, placing one of his huge hands on his daughter’s head. “Evie, you need to remember that this baby is still very, very small. Like, teeeeeeeeeensy tiiiiiiiny small.” He exaggerates it, making the child giggle and imitate him and Charlie go “aw” again. “So it’s up to your daddy and you to make things as easy-peasy as they can be. Both you and I need to be on our best behaviour. Think we can do that?”

Evie puffs out her chest. “I can,” she announces loudly, nodding her head. Tom smiles approvingly, then fixes Charlie in his stare that says more than words. “I can too. I promise.”

* * *

They both prove it to Charlie later that evening. She ate the potatoes - and kept them down! - and then wasn't allowed to do anything else. So, she's sitting on the sofa with Evie, reading a book to the little girl, both snuggled up under a blanket together.

Evie's head is resting against the side of Charlie's breasts. They're a bit tender still, but Evie's so soft and gentle that it doesn't do any harm.

From the kitchen Charlie hears Tom pottering around, he's cleaning everything up between cooking, eating and taking Evie to bed. She actually feels a little bad, not being able to help and do much. Her tummy is doing better right now, and she should go back to normal as long as she can. But she's also comfortable. Plus, Tom told her to go sit down. Who is she to argue?

"Charlie?" 

She startles, looking down at Evie. "Hm?" 

"Can you read on?" the girl mumbles.

"Oh, yes." Charlie actually blushes. "Sorry." 

"It's okay, I'm tired too." Charlie grins, running her hand through the girl's curls. She must be really tired if she actually admits it. "Is the baby tired too? Does it sleep? Do you read a story to it too?" 

"I'm sure the baby is listening right now and then it gets sleepy too. Like you and me."

Evie nods, head rubbing against Charlie's side. "Can you read until the baby and I sleep? I like it, when you read."

Tom is standing in the doorway, his two ladies oblivious that he’s finished tidying up and is watching them. His heart gives a few mighty thumps at the scene in front of him. Like it’s telling him ‘yes-yes-yes you’ve made the right decision’.

He wants to run, get his phone, and photograph or video this scene. But he also doesn’t want to move an inch and just soak up the love. An image pops into his mind, of Charlie with a huge belly, reading to Evie while the little girl gently pats the bump and while Boots purrs sprawled on Charlie’s propped up feet.

Tom can’t help it, he sighs and smiles at the vision. Then he pushes himself off the door and walks over.

“Any chance you can read to me too?” he asks softly, and that earns him a smile that just whacks him right in his chest.

So he settles on Charlie’s other side, his arm long enough to loop around her shoulder and his daughter. And he allows himself to relax for a few minutes, breathing in their scents and reveling in the closeness.

Tom knows there’ll be hellish days ahead. Heck, difficult months. And then difficult years. But right this very moment, he feels as if he could do anything and everything as long as his girls are in his life.

It doesn't take long to have two softly and even breathing Hiddlestons beside and almost on top of her, and Charlie grins. Ha! Not just smooth-voiced, classically trained and Shakespeare-quoting actors are able to read stories that make the audience relax.

Or, fall asleep, but Charlie takes it as a compliment.

Evie is now snuggled closer, her weight heavier, her limbs longer, but not uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. It grounds Charlie, making her stay in the moment knowing that this is real, without making her head swim.

On the other side, Charlie is snuggled up to Tom, her head comfortably on his shoulder, the soft material of his jumper giving her all the warm feelings. Innocent, warm feelings, because at the moment - for the past weeks really - sexy times are the last activities she's thinking about. She can't even get up without vertigo and nausea.

Charlie stops reading, puts the book down in her lap and lets herself close her eyes. They all have to get up eventually, if only to put Evie to bed properly, but for the moment, they can relax.

She grins to herself when she feels Boots jumping on the sofa as well.

* * *

In  the next few days, this scene plays out on repeat and they’re falling into a familiar rhythm. Charlie’s still too unwell to work, but they’ve found out what food she can eat small quantities of without puking her heart out. Tom is dividing his time between his script, his fatherly duties, and doting on Charlie. So much so that she’s almost sick of it - but only almost.

This evening, she feels strong enough for a shower. She’s barely made it into the cubicle and turned the water on nicely hot, when the bathroom door opens and Tom steps in.

His gaze rakes appreciatively over her naked body, lingering on her belly. The oddest expression is on his face, almost wistful. Does he remember his wife’s body changing? Is he imagining hers? What’s going on in his mind?

Before she can ask, he sheds his clothes in record speed, making the now-permanently-dizzy Charlie even dizzier. He steps into the shower, gently hugging her close for a moment before reaching for her body wash.

“Don’t worry, no ravishing on the agenda...not just yet. Although I do look forward to that phase of your pregnancy when your rampant hormones will make you insatiable.” He waggles his brows and nudges her, causing her to giggle and give him a mock-exasperated eye roll.

“For now, will you let me pamper you a bit?” Tom asks, his soapy hands massaging days of tension out of her shoulders.

Tom loves her body. Of course he does. He also knows it's obviously way too early, but he can see the change in her. She's glowing. When she's not sweaty and pale that is.

And now she's standing in front of him, still weak in her knees, and all Tom wants is to make her feel good. Not in the sexual way, though of course he misses their physical intimacy as well. But she's the mother of his child and they're so quickly approaching week 12, he needs to know she's fine and she'll stay. And he doesn't just mean he's hoping Charlie won't break up with him, but leaving him like Emily did.

Tom swallows and clears his throat, when Charlie half turns around to look at him. He's stopped the gentle massage without noticing, and Charlie frowns.

"Tom?"

"Sorry." He shakes his head once, then smiles. "Yes?"

Charlie raises a brow. "I said you don't have to, you're already doing so much for me." 

"Oh," he grins, "just let me do this, I promise you I'll enjoy it as much as you do."

And so he starts again, feeling the hot water on his back and Charlie's smooth skin underneath his hands. From her shoulders he goes down and down her back until his hands reach her hips. From there he moves to Charlie's sides, her still flat belly and up, careful to not hurt her sore breasts. His hands linger, massaging softly, before he tears them away. No need to make her uncomfortable. She's not feeling well. Get it together, Tom.

"The hair, too?" he whispers against Charlie's ear, making her shiver and him smirk.

"Yes, please." There's a short pause in which he makes sure his hands are perfectly soapy. Just when he starts massaging Charlie's head, making her breath hitch in this very good way, a sound that goes straight to his belly, she speaks again. "What's on your mind?"

Tom's heart races. He can't tell her. But he must tell her. He promised. And he wants to, because they - he - will have to learn to speak about these things. He stops moving again, until Charlie pushes against him with her hip.

"I'm… I'm still a bit afraid you might leave me. Uhm. For good."

Charlie finds herself blinking rapidly, and it’s not because shampoo might’ve run into her eyes.

Well, shit. She’s known thoughts like this would be on his mind obviously. But she somehow didn’t think he’d put it into words. This is better than a meltdown though, isn’t it? They can talk about this, instead of Tom running away or pushing her away. But what to say?

She turns around - very slowly, she’s not the steadiest on her feet - and places her hands on Tom’s tense shoulders.

“I won’t.”

He searches her face, gives a curt nod. “But you can’t make promises,” he says so softly she barely hears him. Before she can react, he adds quickly, “I know, I know, I can’t demand or expect them from you because these things aren’t in your hands only. But I’ll never stop being scared. And I can live with that, as long as you can live with me sometimes being over-protective or showing my fear in some other way.”

Charlie only nods, her throat somehow too tight to form words even though they’d be important now.

One of Tom’s hands slides to her tummy, resting there. Something about those long, strong fingers so tenderly spread across her skin right there, with the slightest tremble, just makes her want to weep and weep. Tears of joy and of sadness.

“So much worrying, all the time,” Tom whispers, his gaze a little unfocused as the warmth of his palm seeps into her soapy skin and she has a vision of their child kicking against his touch in months from now.

“After Lily,” he says, “I was constantly afraid of losing Evie, or of her losing me. And then you came into our life and the fear doubled. I guess it’s sinking in that the fear has tripled now with the tiny one, but I’m also realizing I can do this. I want to. Because dammit what kind of wimp would I be if I ran from love and the possibility of loss?”

Her eyes get watery, and before Tom can get any more desperate, Charlie moves closer and buries her face in his chest, arms wrapping tightly around his middle. Tom's hold on her tightens as well, his head turned, his breath on her neck.

"I'll stay, okay?" she whispers against him. "I'll do anything to stay, I'll be as careful as I can."

Tom nods, she feels it. "I want you to. And I'll try to make this the best experience possible for you."

They stay like this for a bit, naked bodies touching, breathing each other in, until Charlie can't take the hot water anymore. She regrets letting go immediately, missing Tom's warmth although he's right there.

"Should I rinse it off, so you can get ready for bed?" he asks softly, and Charlie can only nod. Tom grins. "Turn around then."

Before Charlie does, she lets her fingers roam his body a bit, stroking, touching, tickling here and there. "Are you sure I shouldn't return the favour?"

She's proud of herself, making him swallow and stutter like that. "Charlie," he sighs, "you're almost dead on your feet. Later. Another time. Now, turn around."

She doesn't hide her smirk, making Tom playfully roll his eyes. She'll be the death of him in every way imaginable. Be it her stubbornness - okay, he can't really complain there -, her tendency to downplay any physical or emotional pain, or simply turning him on. Though he admits, he did make it easy, walking into the shower naked with her.

Tom rinses out Charlie's shampoo and the shower gel, lets her out of the cabin to dry off and to have a quick shower himself.

"I'll be in our room!" Charlie calls out, then leaves after a slightly perplexed 'okay' from Tom. They've never called it 'their' room before, and it gives him a warm feeling. Not a shocked or panicked warm feeling, but a good one, deep in his belly.

Tom grins and hums to himself as he dries off. He's already put Evie to bed, but he checks on her first, then downstairs. Boots and Blanket - they've figured they should take the cat to Tom's, if Charlie stays here most of the time - have enough food and enough to drink, the lights are out. He takes his script and makes his way upstairs to the bedroom.

Charlie's already tucked in, her still wet hair in a braid, her body facing the middle.

"Is it okay, if I read a bit more?" Tom whispers as he gets in himself. Charlie nods, then moves closer to him, one leg locking with one of his. "Go to sleep," he murmurs.

"I will." 

"Love you." 

"Love you, too. And the little one."

Tom swallows, heart in his throat, but in a good way. "And our little one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> We hope you liked our little story :)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry :D   
> But you'll find out more next week :)


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